


Grass Stains

by elusivelamb



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Mostly Fluff, Soccer AU, ittle little bit of angst, just a lot of very self indulgent soccer stuff, mutual pining babey!, sports drama~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusivelamb/pseuds/elusivelamb
Summary: “Everybody knows about you, by the way. All the girls in our conference are talking about Beacon’s new center back.”“Really?” Blake considers that for a moment. “What are they saying?”“Just that you’re stupidly good. And that you have pretty hair.”Bumbleby Soccer AU + College AU (mostly soccer). Yang is a goalie, Blake is a defender. Written for Bumbleby Big Bang 2020 with artist partner cinnaworm! See AN for links to the art :)
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 44
Kudos: 222
Collections: Bumbleby Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi gang, thanks for checking out this fic! This is part of the B^3 collection and features some AMAZING art by Cinna :D
> 
> Check her work out here: https://cinnaworm.tumblr.com/post/634515520628080640/heres-my-part-in-the-bumblebybigbang-these-are

Yang is falling. Arms outstretched, muscles straining as she whips through the air, finally crashing into the field with a grunt. She lays there for a moment, feeling the grass tickling her cheek and the mild ache from landing on her shoulder. She inhales. Lets the breath out slow and steady. It’s a good thing she’s always liked the grass – the smell of it, the feel of it, even if it makes her skin itch afterwards. She certainly spends enough time falling into it. 

“You good?” Ruby calls.

“Yep!” Yang pushes herself up and gives her sister a thumbs up. The ball is in the goal, still spinning from the force of Ruby’s shot. “Can’t wait until I can practice with someone that’s nicer on my joints.” 

Ruby laughs. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Yang laughs too. “Fair enough. Hey, did Maria send out the roster yet?” 

“Lemme check.” Ruby jogs to the side of the goal where they haphazardly dumped their backpacks and digs through the pockets. Yang busies herself by stretching out her shoulder. She grabs her letterman jacket from the grass too, even though the late August weather is definitely too hot for it.

“Rubyyy, hurry up!” Yang flicks some grass at her sister. 

“Patience is key, ma’am,” Ruby says, squinting at her phone screen. “Hey, who’s Blake Belladonna?”

Yang snatches the phone and strains to see through the glare. “Third year, center back…never heard of her. Transfer maybe?”

Ruby shrugs. “Can we go to the bakery now? Pretty sure you promised me a scone.”

“Uh huh.” Yang tosses her phone back and grins. “Let’s go.”

~~ 

Yang doesn’t think too much about the new roster until she steps onto the soccer field three days later, eager for the first practice of the season. She’s the last one there, and everyone else is standing around talking, stretching, or idly passing back and forth. A grumpy-looking Maria Calavera is slightly off to the side, watching her approach with a glare.

“Yang!” 

“Oh fu—!” 

Nora plows into her chest and tackles Yang onto the grass. The air rushes out of her lungs when she smashes into the ground.

“Nora, what the hell!” Yang laughs once she’s recovered. She shakes the grass out of her hair and glances up. And freezes. There’s a girl watching her, someone she’s never seen before. Yang is sure she has, like, other qualities, but for the moment all she notices is that this girl is pretty. Really, really pretty. Especially when her eyes widen, and she hastily ducks down to tie a shoelace. 

“Xiao Long!” Maria’s voice cuts through any other uncouth thoughts that Yang may have.

“Heya coach, how was your summer?” 

Maria scoffs and crosses her arms. “Don’t give me small talk. You’re late, Yang.”

“By like, 30 seconds!” Yang protests. But she’s no match for an ornery Maria.

“No excuses. Five laps, all of you.” The words elicit a chorus of groans nearly instantaneously. “NOW.”

But the group dutifully trudges off to circle the field while Maria chuckles and cracks open a bag of mixed nuts. They leave behind a haphazard assortment of balls, water bottles, and backpacks, which Yang hastily tosses her own on top of. She settles in a spot towards the back of the pack with a sigh.

“Hey Ciel.” 

“Good evening.”

That’s a fairly typical interaction. Ciel doesn’t talk much to anyone, except maybe Penny. But that suits Yang fine. She falls into a slow trot and watches her teammates run by. Ruby and Weiss are leading the group, setting an overly quick pace for a warm-up run but each stubbornly refusing to give an inch. Typical forward nonsense. Still, Yang knows how good Ruby is as a winger, and Weiss Schnee’s left foot is quite frankly legendary. Between them and Coco, the front line is looking promising this year. The midfield is strong too, anchored by Pyrrha, who’s probably the most consistent player on the team. Yang couldn’t recall a time she’d had a bad game. And then there’s the back line. With the new kid. The transfer. The really, really pretty one. Blake.

Yang roves her eyes through the group until she spots her, somewhere towards the middle. Black hair, with a wave to it, pulled into a neat ponytail. Yang’s messy bun, on the other hand, is already losing a few strands from the running. She sweeps her bangs out of her eyes and focuses on the repetitive motion of her legs swinging, of her feet hitting the grass, kicking small blades up onto her socks.

She quickens her pace slightly. Might as well try to talk to the new girl, considering she’s going to be one of the starting center backs. Yang sidles in next to her. 

“Hey.” The word comes out between pants. Yang cringes internally. Cardio isn’t her friend, and as a goalie she doesn’t spend much time running around during games. The off season hadn’t done her any favors either.

Blake’s breathing is measured and steady. In through her nose, out through the mouth. She glances at Yang once, then fixes her eyes straight ahead. “Hello.”

“Uh, so – you’re a defender, right?” She offers her warmest smile, not that Blake is looking. “Guess we’ll be working together a lot then.”

Blake nods. Yang waits for her to say something, but after 20 seconds it’s clear that she has no follow-up.

“Soooo.” She wracks her brain for a conversation starter. “Where’d you transfer from?”

She makes a weird motion then, a sort of shudder. And Yang notices her hands clench into fists. “Small school. You don’t know it.” 

“Okaaay.” Yang bites her lip, tries to keep her annoyance out of her voice. “Well, nice to meet you.”

Blake glances over a second time, and Yang finally catches a glimpse of her eyes. They’re kind of weird. A really light hazel color, almost golden. 

Yang’s breath catches in her throat. Some of that might be the running while talking thing she’s been attempting. Either way, she’s glad when Blake breaks eye contact, because she’s not sure that she could bring herself to look away first. 

They don’t talk anymore after that. But when the team splits into smaller groups to run drills, Yang finds herself staring. 

“Yang, you okay?”

“Huh?” Yang blinks and looks away from Blake to focus on Pyrrha’s face. “Sorry. Go ahead.” 

Pyrrha steps up to the ball and expertly chips it up and to the right. Yang launches herself to the side and swats it down just ahead of the goal line. She grabs it on the bounce and rolls it back out to Pyrrha.

“Did Blake say something to you?” Pyrrha traps the ball and casually taps it back to her right foot.

“No. She doesn’t say much, does she?” Yang huffs and adjusts her glove absently. “What’s up with that?”

Pyrrha shrugs. “Maybe she’s shy? Is there a reason you want her to talk to you?” She hammers the ball with the inside of her cleat, sending a bullet of a shot skipping across the field towards the far-left corner of the goal.

Yang swears and dives to the ground. She feels the ball blow past her fingertips – she’d reacted too slow.

“Shit.” She brushes the grass off her shirt and fishes the ball out of the net. “Nice shot.”

“They always are,” Pyrrha says, smirking as she receives the ball from Yang again. 

“Can’t deny that.” Yang shakes her head with a smile. “Let’s see your best.”

Pyrrha raises her eyebrows at the challenge, then nods. She rolls the ball over to the penalty spot while Yang situates her heels on the goal line, bending her knees slightly to get ready to spring. She knows where the ball will be going. Pyrrha always places her penalty shots in the same spot: the upper left corner of the net. She won’t bother to hide where the ball is going. There’s no reason to. Her shots are the strongest on the team, by a large margin.

“Hit me,” she says, wiggling her fingers through the gloves.

Pyrrha doesn’t need to be told twice. She takes three steps back, two to the side, then charges at the ball. Yang springs up and to the left, arm extended and palm open, as soon as Pyrrha starts her run. The ball comes rocketing towards her, Pyrrha’s spin bending it out and then, like clockwork, into the left corner. Yang only gets a few fingers to make contact, but it’s enough to tap it outside the goalpost. She lands on her side with a thud, already grinning wildly.

“Wow.” Pyrrha’s eyes widen. “You’ve never…”

“First time for every—” The rest of Yang’s sentence never sees the light of day. Blake is standing there, just behind Pyrrha. Staring at her. How long has she been there? And why does she look even prettier now that a few strands of hair have escaped from her ponytail?

“Hi, I was supposed to…” Blake trails off with a light cough. “We’re scrimmaging.” She turns around abruptly and jogs to the other side of the field to join the rest of the team.

Pyrrha frowns while Yang pushes herself up from the grass. “I wonder what that was about.”

“Who the hell knows.” Yang narrows her eyes and stretches out her neck. “That girl’s a lost cause.”


	2. Chapter 2

Blake’s favorite thing is the air. Sprinting back to guard the goal, feeling her hair streaming out behind her, legs pumping. She likes standing on the soccer field just after dawn, to breathe the brisk morning air and watch the drizzle of dew as the ball skims over the top of the grass, just brushing past the blades. 

Evening isn’t bad either (although the air doesn’t taste quite the same), and that’s what time it is now. Her new teammates are milling around waiting for practice to start. Some of them are passing around or juggling. Blake, on the other hand, stands still to observe. On the whole, it’s a lively group. Maybe too lively, she thinks, as one of the midfielders physically tackles the goalkeeper to the ground. Blake winces watching her back slam into the field. But both of them are laughing, loudly. The midfielder leaps up first with a wide grin plastered over her face. The goalkeeper moves far slower. She lazily rolls over, sits up, and shakes her head in amusement. Her waves and waves of blonde hair, which are down for some reason, are now covered in little bits of grass. 

Then she looks up and Blake knows she’s been caught staring. She reacts in a knee-jerk, dropping down to pretend to tie her cleat. Smooth. Her cheeks feel hot. 

But not as hot as they do ten minutes later, when Blake’s peripheral is suddenly overwhelmed with a sea of yellow hair. 

“Hey.” The goalkeeper is trying to make eye contact, but Blake can’t help but get distracted by the wisps of hair falling out of a hastily thrown together bun. She looks away quickly and focuses on running, on the steady beat of her shoes digging into the grass and soil.

“Hello.”

The goalie’s name is Yang, as Blake had learned during a brief but revelatory conversation with Penny, the team’s other starting center back. Her name was Yang, she was a junior, her major was Environmental Engineering. She’d been playing soccer since she could walk, and she’d been on the Beacon U varsity team since her freshman year. And she’s from some oceanside town called Patch. Which Blake had never heard of. 

“You’re a defender, right?” Yang is still talking, and still beside her. “Guess we’ll be working together a lot then.”

Blake isn’t sure how to respond to that, so she just nods. She’s not social in the best of cases, and certainly not during cardio training with a bunch of strangers. But apparently Yang doesn’t know how to take a hint.

“Soooo. Where’d you transfer from?”

Blake shudders. She tries to play it off as a particularly loud inhale, but Yang definitely notices. 

“Small school. You don’t know it.” 

Of all the things she doesn’t want to talk about, she doesn’t want to talk about this one the most. There’s no good way to get into any of it. More pressingly, she’d rather eat a face full of grass than get into any of it. 

“Okaaay… Well, nice to meet you.” Yang pushes some of the hair off her forehead and Blake’s eyes involuntarily move to follow the motion. And she gets caught again. This time, Yang is close enough that she can see the brilliant purple color in her eyes. That she can distinguish the smattering of freckles on her face, probably from spending too much time in the sun. That she can see the surprise in her expression. Hear her breath suddenly hitch. 

Blake looks at the grass instead. She must have imagined it. Whatever nebulous “it” just happened. And mercifully “it” is enough to get Yang to shut up and let them finish up their laps in silence. 

A moment later, everyone gathers in a clump and Coco raises her hands to get their attention. The rising babble quiets instantly. Blake can’t help but be impressed by the respect that she commands, even among the strong personalities. 

“Welcome to another fabulous season ladies!” She says, eliciting a few cheers from the clump. “Kickoff party this Friday at Soccer House, don’t forget! But first, let’s get to work, shall we? We’ve got a record to beat and a championship to win.”

The group cheers louder at that, and they begin their passing drills with an energy that Blake has rarely seen during a soccer practice. Certainly not during the famously boring passing drill portion of practice. It’s good to know that they’re serious, even if that seriousness inexplicably extends to the stupid “kickoff party.” Every water break, that’s the focus of conversation. 

Blake tries to stay out of it, but by the time the three-hour session is coming to a close, she’s been bombarded enough times that she finally agrees to “stop by.” 

And that’s how she finds herself standing outside the door of an old house just north of campus at ten o’clock, a time of night that usually sees her crawling into bed with a book and a mug of herbal tea. She tries to shake off the dread as she reaches out to ring the poorly secured doorbell. She’s not sure if the wires are even connected until, a moment later, someone hollers that the door’s unlocked.

Blake enters cautiously, cranes her head around the small foyer to see a well-furnished living room. Most of the team is there already, standing around with solo cups or sitting on one of the three tattered couches. Fabric was a bad choice for those, Blake thinks, since they now carry a haphazard record of stains from all the parties that have gone on here. 

It’s immediately obvious why they call it “Soccer House.” The walls are covered with pictures of past Beacon U women’s soccer teams, along with posters of pro stars like Marta and Tobin Heath. Apparently the house has been occupied by girls on the team for decades now, generally upperclassmen. 

“Blake!” Ruby (one of the forwards) bounds over to her and waves. Which is unnecessary since she’s standing less than two feet away. She’d been pretty excited at practice, and she has the same energy now, although she seems shy talking to Blake directly.

“Hi.” Blake surreptitiously takes a step back to preserve what remains of her personal space. 

Yang steps up next to Ruby, towering over both of them. She crosses her arms in front of her tank top and gives Blake a cordial nod. “Hey.”

Blake forces herself to look anywhere besides Yang’s bare arms. “Hello.”

“Wanna drink?” Yang asks, holding out a cup of some mysterious red liquid.

“What is it?” Whatever it is smells pretty strong.

“Juice,” Ruby says with a grin.

Yang cackles. “Yeah, you get juice because you’re 17. It’s jungle juice for the rest of us.” 

Being the straight-edge kid that she is, Blake’s not quite sure what that means. But based on the smell she assumes it’s an ethanol-driven concoction. 

“Okay. Thanks.” She accepts the cup cautiously. Someone calls Ruby over and Yang makes a point of ruffling her hair as she goes.

“Is she really 17?” 

“Yep.” Yang sinks down on one of the couches, where Velvet and Coco are having an animated discussion about the merits of various dog breeds.

“German shepherd best dog!” Yang interjects. Coco glares at her while Velvet nods enthusiastically.

“I told you!”

She turns her attention back to Blake with a grin. “Anyway, yeah. Ruby skipped a year back in grade school.”

“I see.” Blake takes a sip of the liquid and nearly spits it out. It tastes like straight vodka with a sickening strawberry essence over top of it.

She stifles a cough and tries to play it off. “You know Ruby well?”

Yang laughs. “Yeah, you could say that. She’s my half-sister.”

“Oh, cool.” Blake attempts another sip, fighting to keep her face neutral. 

“Uh, you know, you don’t have to drink that.” Yang’s trying to suppress her amusement. “I can get you a beer or something? Or break into Pyrrha’s wine stash.”

“It’s fine.” Blake takes a larger gulp to illustrate her point. She wonders if getting buzzed will make it easier for her to make eye contact with Yang. Between the tank top and the soft blonde hair spilling down her back, Blake is…distracted. And then there’s that penalty save, which has been playing in Blake’s head on a loop ever since practice. “Thanks for the offer though.” 

“No problem.” Yang chugs the rest of her own drink, then looks at Blake again. She tilts her head, like she’s thinking. Opens her mouth to say something.

“YANG!” Nora waves from a ping pong table on the other side of the room, where Pyrrha is arranging cups for beer pong.

Yang’s head snaps over at the sound of her name. “Yeah, one sec!” She raises her eyebrows at Blake. “You want in?”

Blake considers it for two seconds, which is two seconds longer than she would ordinarily dream of considering it. “Um... no thanks.” 

A look of disappointment flashes across Yang’s face. But it’s gone so fast that Blake’s not sure if she imagined it. She feels disappointed too, although she’s not sure what she’s disappointed about. 

All Blake knows is that when Yang joins the others at the table, she finds it very hard to look at anyone else.


	3. Chapter 3

Yang bites her lip and launches a ping pong ball over the table. It swooshes down to land perfectly in one of the red solo cups arranged in front of Nora and Pyrrha. 

“A+!” Weiss says, giving Yang a thumbs up. It’s a rare compliment from someone who’s usually so tightly wound. 

“Who are you, my thermo professor?” Yang’s snark elicits an irritated huff.

Pyrrha fishes the ping pong ball out and hands the cup to Nora, who downs the beer in a second. 

“Wouldn’t that be a C-?” Pyrrha asks slyly, but without malevolence.

Yang scoffs dramatically while Nora and Weiss snicker uncontrollably.

“No need for the savagery, thank you very much.” Yang smirks. “And I’d recommend you focus on the game. Notice you’ve only got one cup left and Weiss still has her shot.” She points out the final cup with a cocky wave of her hand. Weiss, who hasn’t made a single shot the whole game, looks bewildered. 

She hesitantly takes her shot and misses the table entirely. “Oops.”

While Nora chases down the ball, Yang seizes the brief opportunity to surreptitiously look over at the couch. Blake’s still there, conversing calmly with Velvet and Coco. Yang has only ever seen her with her hair pulled up and she’s frustrated how good it looks down, too. She wants to talk to her again. She can’t pin down what it is, or why, but Yang feels like something’s drawing her in. Making her sneak a glance at the couch every chance that she gets. Curiosity maybe? Blake’s really pretty, but so is Pyrrha, and Yang never felt this way with her. 

“Can we go outside?” Ruby’s nudging Yang’s elbow. She looks antsy, which is pretty classic. Ruby needs time in the outdoors every day or she starts bouncing off the walls. 

“You guys wanna kick a ball around?” Yang dutifully amplifies Ruby’s mumble to the whole group.

Nobody’s opposed, so the whole team starts a slow migration to the backyard. Yang lingers to clear off the cups from the ping pong table – save some time later. And when Blake brushes past her, she’s irrationally pleased with herself for not staring. 

She heads to the backyard herself a minute later, where Ruby is already showing off her juggling skills. She bounces the ball off the tops of her sneakers a few times before kicking it high into the air and catching it on her forehead. 

“Will you pass it already?” Weiss is glaring daggers, arms crossed tightly. 

“Oh, okay!” Ruby tilts her head and lets the ball lazily roll off. It bounces on the grass once, then she swings her left leg with a practiced poise. The movement looks slow, almost weak, but Yang has seen Ruby do it enough times to know better. 

Weiss yelps and ducks just in time to avoid getting nailed in the face. “Are you crazy? You could’ve hit me!” She straightens up with a haughty indignance and marches over to Ruby. 

“Uh…Sorry?” Ruby chuckles nervously and takes a couple steps back. 

“Okay, can we not start fighting—” Coco checks her pretend watch “—five days into our season? Weiss?” She gently pulls Weiss’ shoulders to get her out of Ruby’s personal bubble.

Weiss’ laser-sharp glare switches targets. “Fine. Tell her that.” She shakes off Coco’s hands and stomps back to her place in the circle.

Coco quirks an eyebrow at Ruby and is met with a vigorous nod. “Aye-aye captain, won’t happen again.”

“Oh captain, my captain!” Yang chimes in. She slings an arm around Coco’s shoulders and grins. “That’s the sort of leadership that’ll get us into the final this year.” 

Coco rolls her eyes fondly, but Yang isn’t looking at her. Yet again, she’s staring across the circle at her new center back, who doesn’t seem to be hearing any of them. The smile drops off Yang’s face. She wonders why she feels so damn disappointed.


	4. Chapter 4

In the week following the party, Blake is relieved to note that everyone pretty much leaves her alone. And when classes start that Tuesday she’s even more relieved to have something to focus on, or perhaps something to distract herself. Because just about every time her mind is unoccupied – and often when it is occupied – her thoughts drift inexorably back to that goalkeeper. Yang. 

It’s vexing. She has other things to deal with. She barely knows the girl. And yet she can’t stop thinking about her smile, her eyes, her soft hair brushing past her shoulder. Her beer pong showboating, and her singular focus when she’s in goal. There’s something about her. There is. But Blake doesn’t have the time or inclination to find out what it is. She just wants it to go away. 

She says as much to Ilia – a kindred spirit whom she recalls as an old friend from middle school, before Ilia’s parents sent her off to boarding school and they fell out of touch. She’s about the only person Blake talks to regularly at Beacon. 

“She’s so distracting to scrimmage with,” Blake complains as they walk to their dorms together after a particularly rough practice.

“Is she?” Ilia makes a huffing sound, halfway between amused and annoyed. “You’ve noticed how well the two of you play together, right?”

Blake had. Which is also vexing.

“Right, but I…” she trails off. She actually can’t remember what her complaint here is. “I guess we’ll see what happens on Thursday.” 

“Yep, we’ll see.” Ilia chuckles lightly, and Blake has no idea what’s so funny.

They stay busy between classes and practice, and their Thursday evening season opener rolls around before Blake expects it. But besides the usual start-of-the-season jitters, she feels good. The team’s been meshing well so far, and everyone works hard at practice. Now they just have to focus and apply it.

Their first opponent is Shade Academy and according to the team gossip, Shade is usually towards the bottom of the league standings. But nobody wants to underestimate them. Maria specifically warns (with her insider coaching knowledge) that they recruited some new forwards this year that did very well in their high school careers, particularly the center forward.

Blake makes a note of this when they take the field in Beacon’s standard 4-3-3 formation. And she continues to keep an eye out as the first half gets underway. 

It feels nice, playing again. It’s been many months since she last played competitively, and that was in a community college circuit – nothing like this. Blake breathes deeply, savoring the warmth of the evening air filling her chest. She’s starting to feel confident. Even comfortable.

She slides to the ground and intercepts a pass, feels the solid tap of the rapidly spinning ball against her cleat, then smoothly pushes herself upright. She launches a crisp ball through two opposing midfielders as Pyrrha darts through to claim the open space. She touches the ball once with her left foot, then twists her torso and clobbers it with her right. Her red hair whips around, simultaneously wild and graceful. The ball lofts up, soars over the penalty box, arcs down close to the goal line. The keeper extends a futile hand. But Coco moves too fast for her and, a moment later, she slams the ball into the back of the net with a right-footed strike. 

The stands erupt, the team cheers, and the forwards exchange some high fives. Blake allows herself a small smile, then trots back to her position in the backfield. Not bad for the first goal of the season.

“Nice pass,” Yang says. She catches Blake’s eye and flashes her a thumbs-up. Blake can’t contain the smile anymore, and for once she doesn’t want to. She takes a page out of Yang’s book and grins unabashedly, and she doesn’t miss the way Yang’s eyes light up in return.

“Thanks.”


	5. Chapter 5

Yang spends most of the second half idle. The Shade players have taken on an almost frantic play style after Coco’s goal, but the back line handles most of it. Especially the new center back. Blake is playing better than Yang has seen, even during her best practice scrimmages. She’s everywhere at once, shutting down plays before they can get started, anticipating and intercepting passes, directing her teammates. Yang really hadn’t expected someone like Blake to take on this much of a leadership role – but she’s more than happy to let her do it. Particularly when the results are this good. 

Their offense has been solid too, even if Ruby keeps trying to dribble through half of their opponents while Weiss screeches at her from the other side of the field. The score stays fixed at 1-0, although Pyrrha gets close to doubling it with a rocket of a shot from outside the penalty box. The Shade goalkeeper is barely able to tip it over the crossbar. Yang is sympathetic. Even with thick goalkeeping gloves on, a Pyrrha shot always leaves fingers hurting.

“Yang!” 

Her head snaps up at Blake’s call.

“Take the kick?” Blake gestures at the ball, sitting just outside the box where Ciel got fouled a moment ago. 

“Oh, right.” Yang shakes out her shoulders and steps up to take the free kick. It’s easy to space out when there isn’t much to do, but she needs to stay present. “Sorry.”

Blake rolls her eyes, but there’s no annoyance or frustration in the movement. She looks almost fond. That’s enough to make Yang’s brain go fuzzy. She tries to rebuild her focus as she takes several steps back from the ball.

The referee blows her whistle. Yang runs up and smacks the ball with her foot, sending it flying over the midfield towards Ruby. She runs backwards to the goal, watching the play carefully. Until she looks at Blake. Who’s looking at her, too. Half-smiling.

“Nice pass.” 

Yang’s not sure exactly how she manages to trip over her own feet, but the next thing she knows, she’s falling onto her back on the grass. The momentum sends her feet up into the air, rolling over a full 180 degrees. It’s an awkward sort of…backwards somersault? It might have been impressive if it was intentional. She pops to her feet as fast as possible. Blake’s mouth is slightly open.

“Um, are you—”

“All good!” Yang’s voice is about an octave higher than usual. She winces and glances at the sideline. Maria slams a hand into her forehead while the bench laughs. Yang gives them a double thumbs up and manages to make her way back to the goal without further incident. 

She shoots Blake another look, but she’s turned around and refocused on the game. Which is what Yang should be doing. There’s still 20 minutes in the half, plenty of time for Shade to make a comeback if they aren’t careful. 

One of the midfielders launches a longball, but Penny gets to it before a forward can pounce. She heads it out of harm’s way and Yang snatches it up once it enters the box. Penny grins like she always does when she makes a play with Yang. Yang nods and grins back. Their communication is just as strong as it was at the end of last season. Which makes sense. 

Yang rolls the ball back out to Blake, who seamlessly passes it up the sideline with a single touch. The way Blake has effortlessly fit into the team’s defense makes less sense. Not that anyone is complaining. But the communication feels almost automatic, especially for Yang. It’s like they’ve played together for years instead of weeks.

But Shade is getting desperate, and even with their oddly automatic defense, the offensive plays are getting faster and more relentless. They’re in stoppage time when Shade’s left winger gets on the end of another longball. She sprints down the sideline while Ilia closes off as much of her angle at the goal as possible. They’re moving too fast to risk a slide tackle. And the forward has a half a step on Ilia. Which means she’ll get a shot off.

Yang shuffles her feet and charges as they approach the box. She lunges forward, body sideways and limbs outstretched, making herself as big as possible. The forward is good though. She reacts deftly, chipping the ball through Yang’s straining arms. Yang feels it brush past her thumb. Tantalizingly close. She cranes her neck as she lands in the grass, watching the ball soar towards the empty net. 

She sees a flash of black hair, and Blake is racing towards the goal line, eyes fixed on the ball as it arcs back down towards the ground. She extends her leg and manages to flick it with the top of her cleat. It’s just enough. The ball jolts up in response, flies harmlessly over the crossbar. Blake skids down onto the grass in front of the net.

“Nice, Blake!” Ilia shouts.

“Damn.” Yang says. The Shade forward says the same thing, along with a few other choice words.

Yang walks back to the goal and holds out a gloved hand. “Thanks for that, you really saved my ass.”

Blake’s breathing heavily, but she smiles in response. 

“No problem.” She takes the glove and lets Yang pull her up. 

Yang finds it hard to pull away once she’s standing up. There’s something about the beads of sweat on Blake’s forehead that makes her chest feel tight. Looking lower doesn’t help either. Because then she’s looking into her eyes, and the tightness only gets more intense. 

Blake squeezes her glove and takes her hand back. Yang blinks a few times, shaking off the sudden stupor. She takes the goal kick and, a minute later, the final whistle blows.


	6. Chapter 6

Blake’s dorm room is, you know, decent. The transfers get access to better dorms than the freshmen at least. And she was able to finagle a single, which was her top priority. But it’s a small room, and it’s very poorly lit. The single ceiling light emits a lurid yellow glow that tends to give Blake a headache, usually within an hour of trying to study. 

So she seeks out other areas on campus. The popular cafes and libraries won’t do. She doesn’t work well in loud or crowded locations, preferring a secluded, out-of-sight spot. It’s a tough ask on a college campus as densely populated as Beacon, but Blake is persistent. 

She does most of her exploring during the early morning hours, when she’s unlikely to run into any other students. Or at night, when she finds unlocked classrooms in the biology building and scribbles her notes all over the blackboards. Quiet corners of the library work in a pinch – especially if she goes at dawn. 

It’s a warm day in September when she first finds the rock garden. It’s nestled against the back of one of the engineering buildings, only visible if you walk around the corner and crane your neck, or if you stand on the roof. The path leading to it is barely distinguishable from the shrubbery beyond it, but Blake finds it. And she loves it.

She loves the feeling of the gravel under her feet. Loves the smooth granite of the bench against her legs, the trickle of water from the stream that weaves through the stones. From the bench, she can see over the dense forest that sprawls out east of the campus. It’s a view devoid of any hint of humanity – nothing but the yellows and reds of the autumn trees, and the pale blue of the sky.

Blake spends a lot of time there. Even as October approaches and the air gets colder. She just throws on an extra sweater and wears two pairs of socks before pulling on her wool-lined boots. It’s worth it for the calm, the stillness, and the isolation. It’s a respite she needs dearly as the soccer season picks up in earnest. She’s never been on a team that put such a strong emphasis on socialization and comradery, and it’s starting to get overwhelming. Hard to deny the results though. They’re off to a 6-0 record with no goals against, and it does feel good when the whole team congratulates her on another defensive shutout. 

It was Nora who started the nickname thing, sometime after their fourth win. And now Yang is “The Wall” and the back line is “The Moat.” And every time Blake makes a tough tackle or clearance, either Yang or Nora or both will use their arms to mime a drawbridge raising. Then they burst out laughing and Blake rolls her eyes to hide her amusement. But amusement aside, the team is rowdy, and she needs her alone time. 

That’s why, when she shows up one day and sees Yang already sitting on the bench, her first instinct is to turn around and run. She doesn’t even see her at first. Which is crazy considering her height and the brightness of her hair. The hesitation gives time for Yang to glance up from the notebook she has unsteadily balanced on her crossed legs. 

“Blake?” She’s surprised too, but she recovers faster than Blake, who stands stock still at the edge of the gravel path leading in. Her raised eyebrows lower, and she smiles. “Damn, I thought I was the only one who knew about this place.”

“Sorry.” Blake finally remembers how to speak. “I’ll just—” she starts backing away.

“Whoa, wait!” Yang stands up suddenly and the notebook flops into the gravel. “Shit—uh, you can stay.” She picks it up and brusquely shakes the pebbles off. “Not like I built the place. And I can be quiet sometimes, I promise.” 

Blake wavers for another moment while Yang settles back into her spot. She tilts her head and pats the open side of the bench beside her. There’s still a chance for escape. Blake could pretend that she forgot something, or that she has to get to class. But instead she shuffles over and perches awkwardly at the end of the bench. 

“How you liking Beacon so far?” Yang asks cordially, scribbling something down at she speaks. Blake peers at the page, sees a double integral symbol, and swiftly averts her eyes. It’s deeply unfair that Yang can block penalty kicks and do math. 

“It’s alright.” Blake fishes her half-finished linguistics homework out of her bag. She’s worried that Yang might launch into more small talk, but she just nods and turns her full attention back to her work. 

As they both focus in silence, Blake is surprised to find herself relaxing. Untensing. About as much as she can while doing schoolwork. Somehow Yang’s presence doesn’t bother her. Even the heavy exhales through her nose when she gets stuck on a problem, or her light humming when things are going well. Being with her is oddly comforting. 

And Blake feels it again. The pull from inside of her. Stronger than it was the night of the kickoff party, and even stronger than it is when they’re on the field together.

So when she finishes her assignment, Blake doesn’t leave immediately. She opens her mouth a couple times, trying to cobble together a sentence about… anything, really. Luckily Yang is staring at her page, tapping her pencil against her chin, and doesn’t seem to notice. 

“It’s a good start, right?” 

“Huh?” Yang’s eyebrows unknit and her head jerks in Blake’s direction. “Sorry, what?”

Blake wants to kick herself. “The season, I mean. The team is doing well.” 

“Ah.” Yang grins and closes her notebook, stretches out her neck. “Yeah, we’re nailing it. Especially the moat.” She moves on to stretch her shoulders, and there’s something overly casual about the motion. “Especially you.” 

The phrase sends a shiver down Blake’s spine. She’s never been good at accepting compliments.

“You don’t have to say that. It’s a group effort.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound so dismissive.

“I know, but I—look, I love Penny to death, but she’s not a robot. She makes mistakes. You, on the other hand…” Yang trails off until Blake looks up to meet her eyes. “You’re the best center back I’ve ever played with.” 

Blake feels her face heating up, despite the chilly morning breeze on her skin. So she says the only thing she can come up with to deflect. “Are you calling me a robot?”

Yang’s eyes go wide. “No, no no. Well, technically yes. But no!” Her cheeks turn pink and Blake feels a strange rush of satisfaction. Like she wants to come up with more things to say to get Yang to make that face again.

“It’s like, if the four of you are the moat, then you’re the alligator in it.” Yang gestures at the stream as if that helps make her point. “Everybody knows about you, by the way. All the girls in our conference are talking about Beacon’s new center back.” 

“Really?” Blake considers that for a moment. “What are they saying?”

“Just that you’re stupidly good. And that you have pretty hair.” She says it so matter-of-factly that Blake doesn’t pick up on the flirting at first.

“Well.” She says finally. “I can’t wait to hear what they say about you then.”

Yang gives her another wide smile and Blake is taken aback by the brightness of it. It’s like staring into the sun. Yang’s smiles are always like that, but this feels different. Knowing that she’s smiling at her? For her? 

Blake can hardly stand to look at it. But she can’t stand to look away.


	7. Chapter 7

They spend a lot of time together after that day. Yang makes a point of going every day during her class breaks. And once she picks up on Blake’s morning routine (7am run, 8am garden meditation), she starts waking up early just to see her.

Sometimes they talk, sometimes they do classwork, sometimes they just sit quietly and enjoy their surroundings – Blake touches the moss on the rocks while Yang grabs a stick and draws idle swirls in the sand. Yang likes it all. But her favorite is definitely when she makes Blake laugh. Blake is usually all polite smiles and forced chuckles, but when Yang does something stupid or funny enough, she breaks into true, unrestrained laughter.

One time she lies in wait, turning a flat piece of gray rock between her fingers. When she hears Blake’s light gravel-crunch footsteps approaching, she whips out a cloth and starts vigorously polishing.

“…Why?” 

Yang looks up innocently. “Hm?”

Blake rolls her eyes. “What are you doing? Some practical joke?”

“Oh babe, no.” Yang can’t stop herself from grinning. “Just wanted to give you this. So we can start with a clean slate.” 

“Oh my god.” Blake takes the stone reluctantly, after Yang aggressively thrusts it in her direction. Then she makes eye contact and Yang knows that she’s won. And sure enough, the smile Blake has been holding back springs onto her face. She ducks away to hide her laughter.

“Well, that won’t do.” Yang stands up and gently directs Blake’s head up so she can have an uninhibited view of that smile. 

Blake’s breath catches. Yang realizes what she’s just done. Realizes that her hand hasn’t moved from its spot, caressing Blake’s jaw and neck. It’s like every thought in her brain comes skittering to a halt, staring in shock and awe, wondering what might happen next. She has a vague, fuzzy awareness of Blake’s hand playing with the bottom button of her flannel. 

Blake has long eyelashes. Long and dark, with this perfect curl at the end. She’s looking up at Yang through them, and it’s making her heart beat at double time. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure this is a shale, not a slate.” Blake pulls up the rock between their faces. Yang drops her arms to her sides and steps back.

“What? Y-you sure?” The stutter makes her want to slam her head in a door.

“Yeah, sorry.” Blake pauses, and the corner of her mouth curls upwards. “I guess you could say your plan shale-d.” 

And with that she bursts out laughing. It’s clear. Unrestrained. She’s almost gasping for air between rushes of laughter. Yang thinks it’s perfect.

The closeness reflects in their play, too. Yang thought they were in sync before, but it’s nothing compared to now. They communicate through looks alone, and an eyebrow raise from Yang during a set piece is enough to tip Blake off to a couple of opposing forwards inching to the edge of the box. Blake calls for Ciel and they rush to cover just in time to stifle the play. 

Ilia is the first to notice, or at least is the first that Yang notices has noticed. After Yang makes a diving save and Blake helps her up, her hand lingering on Yang’s arm for just a few seconds longer than necessary. Ilia looks between them and raises an eyebrow. Then a knowing expression flickers across her features, and that’s that. Within the week, everyone on the team knows and starts keeping tabs on them in their own ways. 

Ciel and Ilia exchange glances across the field from their outside back positions. Ruby peppers Yang with questions which she dodges artlessly. Weiss rolls her eyes constantly. And that’s not to mention the less subtle approaches. Like Penny, who loudly asks if they’re dating in the middle of a practice scrimmage. Yang stammers out a denial while Blake stares at the dying yellow grass beneath them. 

And even that mortifying event doesn’t stop Coco, who, less than a week later, slaps Yang on the back during one of their water breaks. Yang coughs and nearly chokes. 

“Attagirl Xiao Long! Always knew you had game.” 

Yang groans, not the least because Blake is clearly in earshot. “She’s not my girlfriend, Coco.”

“Sure, sure.” She winks and slaps her back again, then gallivants off, presumably to terrorize other teammates. Blake grimaces over her shoulder and Yang feels her face turn red.

All of it serves to make her wonder why Blake isn’t her girlfriend. 

Yang isn’t one for shyness or hedging on her feelings. She’s usually confident. And she can usually read people pretty well. It’s something you learn how to do when you’re forced to grow up too fast. But Blake’s different. Blake’s got her on her heels. And although it’s only been a couple months since they met, Yang finds herself terrified at the prospect of losing what they have.

She keeps quiet. Keeps herself controlled. Stops herself from saying things. Things like “you’re beautiful” or “can I kiss you?” or “wanna go out sometime?” It all feels too fragile, too breakable. Like holding a bird’s nest with one hand and a chainsaw with the other. Which isn’t a metaphor. She’d literally done it before, helping her dad out with yardwork. Climbed up a tree that was encroaching on the neighbor’s fence to hack off a couple branches. Found the nest and insisted on holding it close to her chest, laboriously sawing with her free hand while Taiyang yelled at her to put the damn nest down. But she was worried the vibrations might knock it down. So she held it. And she didn’t drop it. Didn’t break a single egg.

Point is, she doesn’t want to drop the nest this time either.

It’s a sort of delicateness that people wouldn’t expect from her. That’s what she’s thinking when Blake lets a stray ball roll into the box during their game against U of Atlas. Yang scoops up before their fastest forward can get to it, then punts it violently. The ball soars well past midfield into the upper third, where Coco leaps up to head it left for Weiss.

“Huh, strong leg. Maybe you’re not so top-heavy after all.” The forward winks at her.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Yang growls. This stupid forward has been getting on her nerves all game, and she’s gotten more irritating since Ruby scored to put Beacon ahead. Yang knows it’s a strategy. But god, she’s just so fucking annoying.

“Aww, you don’t like me anymore? Too much for your little-ittle brain to keep up with?” She sticks out her tongue.

Yang wants to rip it out. “Why don’t you get onside and leave me alone?”

“Oh… Thanks for the pointer! Here I go!” She darts up the field past Blake, who has been glaring throughout the exchange. 

The forward (Katt, her jersey says) gets onside just as her teammate slips a low cross past Nora. Blake’s caught off guard, but it’s nothing compared to Yang, who is well off her goal line. Neon beats Blake to the ball and lazily taps it with her left foot. It’s a simple redirection, but it’s all she needs to do. It skids between Yang’s legs before she can get her knee down, and rolls straight into the net.

“Shit!” Yang slams the grass with her glove. 

“Ooh, a nutmeg. That’s embarrassing~” Katt grins and gives Yang a cutesy wave before trotting back to Atlas’ half of the field.

The halftime whistle blows a moment later, and Maria is waiting for them on the sideline with a thunderous expression. 

“What exactly happened back there?” She demands as soon as Blake and Yang step off the field.

“That fucking—” 

“LANGUAGE.”

Yang pauses. “Sorry coach. That motherfucking forward keeps fucking with me.”

She doesn’t care for decorum at the best of times, and right now her blood is at a rolling boil. It’s the wrong choice. Maria has a reputation for a reason, and the reputation is that bad things happen to people that disrespect her. She draws herself up to her full height (4 feet, 10 inches) and fixes Yang with a piercing glare through her thick-glassed spectacles. 

“Chang!” She barks. The backup goalkeeper jolts from her spot in the huddle.

“Y-yes coach?”

“Warm up. You’re playing the second half.”

The girl looks deeply uncomfortable, eyes flicking between Maria and Yang, who feels her body start to shake with rage.

“You can’t do that.” Yang says. Her hands clench instinctively. 

“I can and I did.” Maria shoos her with one hand. “Take a walk, Xiao Long. Cool off.”

Yang manages to keep further obscenities from escaping her mouth. She takes off her gloves and savagely throws them onto the ground, then walks off without a word.

Taking a walk does help with the blinding rage, although she’s still fuming about... well, everything. She sits on the low fence surrounding the field and ineffectually scrapes at the grass with the bottom of her cleat. The soil is dry today, and she sends little sprays of dirt into the air with each scrape. It’s kinda transfixing. Which might be why she doesn’t notice the two figures approaching her until they’re only a few yards away. 

Ruby followed her, which is predictable. But Blake is there too. Less predictable. And in spite of the circumstances, she can’t help the flutter in her chest.

“Oh. Hi guys.” Yang mumbles. 

“You okay?” Ruby asks. She’s fidgeting like she always does when she’s nervous, or scared. Yang feels a twinge of guilt.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Just a little embarrassed.” She offers what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Don’t you have to get back? Halftime’s almost over.” 

“I got subbed too. But Blake…” Ruby glances sideways. Blake shrugs.

“I have a minute.” 

She sits next to Yang, lays a light hand on her forearm. It’s surprising, how easily and confidently Blake moves. Considering how reserved she is ordinarily. It reminds Yang of the way she moves on the field, with a quiet assuredness, a fierceness below the surface.

“I’m sorry. It was my fault.” Blake bites her lip.

“No, no no.” Yang shakes her head, vigorously. “Definitely mine.”

Ruby exhales loud enough for them both to hear. “Well, honestly, it was kinda both of your faults,” she mutters, before smiling innocently when they glance up. 

Yang laughs. “Point taken.”

They return to the sideline together, and Yang makes her sheepish apology. Maria waves it off. “I would’ve done the same thing,” she says, with a playful smile. But decisions are decisions, and Yang dutifully takes her spot on the bench beside Ruby for the second half, while Lisa Chang takes her place in the net.

“You got this!” Yang flashes her a peace sign, which Lisa returns. Yang isn’t worried. Lisa’s good. 

But it is weird to be on the outside looking in, and soon enough she’s pacing back and forth along the sideline, watching every dribble and pass like a hawk. The annoying Atlas forward is still hovering by their goal as much as possible, hoping to get a rise out of the new goalie. Yang sees Katt’s mouth move even if she can’t hear the words. But everyone has learned to ignore her by now, and Yang watches her frustration mount as she realizes that her strategy isn’t going to yield any more easy goals. 

“Now you have to make a real play, asshole.” It’s vindictive, but Yang can’t help but smile. She paces past the bench again. Ruby gives her a high five.

The minutes tick on, and Atlas’ offense is all but snuffed out. Yang’s pacing quickens. They’re tied now, but nobody on this team is the type to settle for a tie. Not in the least because their record is perfect so far at 9-0-0. It’s the best start to a season that Beacon’s had in almost a decade. Yang doesn’t want to be the idiot that messes it up for everyone.

So she cheers louder than anyone else in the 77th minute, when Weiss scores on a perfect left-footed strike to the far post, which dances just out of reach for the Atlas keeper. And she’s the first to run onto the field after the whistle blows. 

“Hello Yan—” Weiss’ sentence ends in a squeak when Yang picks her straight up off the ground and spins her in a giddy circle. “Unhand me!” Her tone is demanding and bossy as ever, but Yang can tell she’s secretly pleased. It was a nice shot.

She obliges though, setting Weiss down and ruffling her hair with a grin, earning a parting swat in return. Ruby charges up a second later and nearly knocks poor Weiss over with the force of her hug. More of a tackle than a hug really. 

“Hey.” Blake jogs up to a halt next to Yang, still panting from the running and the adrenaline.

“Hey. Good game.” Yang gives her a crooked smile. 

“Thanks.” 

Blake’s breathless joy is almost too much for Yang to handle. Almost. But she keeps her grip, keeps her balance. Instead, she settles for just looking at Blake, and enjoying her presence next to her. Which is why she makes sure that they’re sitting next to each other an hour later, when the whole team goes out for smoothies to celebrate their shiny 10-0-0 record. It’s why she grabs Blake’s hand when everyone goes their separate ways after, mumbles something about giving her a ride home. And it’s why, when Blake looks through her eyelashes and steps closer, Yang forgets all about their precarious bird nest-chainsaw status. Something else takes over. And suddenly it feels like a crime to do anything but kiss her.

And Yang’s no criminal.


	8. Chapter 8

In hindsight, Blake is a little miffed that their first kiss is at the Jamba Juice instead of their garden. Well, the school’s garden. It was starting to feel like it belonged to them though. 

But in spite of the less-than-romantic location, it’s still the happiest Blake has felt all semester. 

“Is this okay?” Yang pulls back just enough to whisper the question against Blake’s lips.

It takes Blake a moment to find her voice, and it has a slight tremble when she does. “Yeah.”

And then Yang is kissing her again, and Blake is only vaguely aware of the hands on her back, or her own hands buried in Yang’s hair. What she notices is that they fit. Yang pulls her closer and their bodies press against each other, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle. They fit. Blake notices it with relief.

Yang sighs softly against her mouth. It sends a slow pulse of heat through Blake’s body, warming her from head to toe. She takes Yang’s bottom lip in her own, with a slow but insistent pressure. 

When they finally separate for air, Blake’s in a haze. She finds it hard to think about anything but Yang. Finds it hard to want anything but the feel of her lips again. 

Yang’s eyes flutter open, then crinkle into a smile. “Cool.”

~~

In the weeks that follow, both of them experience a drastic dive in productivity. Blake hadn’t realized how important their quiet homework sessions were to her schoolwork. And nowadays they do very little homework when they meet up. Even when they try sincerely, it always devolves into the same pattern.

Yang will keep sneaking looks at her, without a trace of subtlety. Eventually Blake will get fed up. She’ll grab her hand and say something snarky, like “why don’t you take a picture instead” or “you know you move your entire head when you do that, right?” Yang will smile. And then they’re drawn together, irresistibly, like magnets. 

They mix it up. Sometimes the garden, sometimes Yang’s room at Soccer House. Blake will even tolerate it when Yang drags her to a library or some coffee shop in town. They do better in public, but it usually ends with them staring at each other, Yang struggling to keep the massive grin off her face while Blake pretends to roll her eyes. 

“I just can’t believe I got you,” she says once, when Blake demands to know what she’s smiling so wildly at.

“Cause you’re, like. You know…” The smile gets smaller, gentler. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Blake says.

“I know. I’ll explain it to you someday.” She reaches out, brushes Blake’s hair off her forehead. “Once I figure out how to say it.”

The team picks up on the shift in dynamics pretty quickly. Not that it takes a genius to figure it out. The make out sessions at Soccer House are anything but a subtle hint. Usually Blake prefers to keep her personal life… well, personal. But with Yang, she wants everyone to know. She’s not sure why. 

They’re all supportive, although Weiss gets progressively more indignant every time they miss instructions at practice because they were flirting, or just smiling at each other. And she has a point. When their first game after the kiss rolls around, Blake’s nervous that their play might be affected. 

But it’s not. They were playing in sync before, and they’re playing in sync now. The only thing that’s changed is their routines off the field. They always meet up before, and Blake helps corral Yang’s stubborn hair into a slightly more presentable bun. They show up to the field together, sit on the bus together if it’s an away game. And once the game’s done and they’ve showered and changed into sweats, they lay together on Yang’s bed, talking quietly or just breathing in silence, enjoying the companionship. 

It’s a routine that holds until the end of October, when they play Haven. They’re midway through the second half, tied 2-2, when the ball deflects out for a Haven corner kick. 

Blake positions herself at the near post, jostling with one of the forwards for position. 

“Two o’clock,” Yang says from behind her.

“I see her. Nora!” 

Nora’s rushing back to defend the kick, and covers the opponent just in time. The ball comes flying into the box, above Blake’s head and to the far post. Yang springs to bat it away at the same time that a forward tries a header. She knocks it to the left, but the forward keeps going, smacking into Yang’s face with her forehead.

She stumbles backwards and falls. Soccer fields are noisy, between the shouts of the players and the cheers of the crowd. But Blake hears the dull thud of Yang’s head colliding with the goal post, loud and clear.

“Yang!” She rushes over. Drops to her knees, game forgotten. The ball bounces to Penny, who has the wherewithal to boot it out of bounds.

“Yang?” Blake ghosts her fingers over Yang’s cheek, afraid to touch her. There’s a trickle of blood running from her nose, but it’s the unfocused cloudiness in her eyes that sends an awful tremor down Blake’s spine.

“Mm... fine.” Yang struggles to sit up. Blake wraps an arm around her to hold her steady. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She repeats the mantra, but Blake isn’t having it.

“Move slowly,” she commands, keeping her voice as calm as she can manage. 

Maria marches onto the field, closely trailed by one of the med staff. The on-field evaluation is short, punctuated by Yang’s continued protests that she’s fine. Everyone ignores her. After examining Yang’s nose and shining a light at her eyes, the medic mutters something to Maria, then nods to the medical tent set up on the sideline. 

“Let’s get you standing. Nice and slow.” She moves to help Yang up, but Blake steadfastly refuses to let go.

“I got her.” It comes out snappier than intended. The medic raises her hands in surrender and mouths ‘okay.’ She exchanges a glance with Maria, who offers a noncommittal shrug. Blake ignores them. She delicately maneuvers her hands so that she can use the most leverage to help Yang stand.

“So I suppose I’ll have to sub you both,” Maria says once they’re both on their feet. 

Blake doesn’t say anything. She just nods, resolute. Maria sighs heavily. “Go.”

And with that the medic guides them both to the tent, where they sit Yang in a chair and begin concussion protocol. Someone hands Blake a wad of gauze. She takes it upon herself to press it to Yang’s nose with one hand, distractedly stroking her back with the other.

There are two or three medics buzzing around them now, and one of them makes the executive decision to send her to the hospital.

“You’re doing great,” he says, smiling warmly from beneath a neatly trimmed gray beard. The ambulance rolls up and an EMT throws the doors open. Blake unconsciously squeezes Yang’s shoulder.

“Stay with me.” Yang speaks uncharacteristically softly.

“Of course I will.” Blake soothes. Yang’s shoulders start shaking lightly.

“Don’t go, please.” She looks up. Blake is taken aback by the rawness in her expression, the desperation. She looks scared.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


	9. Chapter 9

The news is good, all things considered. Her nose isn’t broken. CT scan is clear. Diagnosis is a mild concussion. The doctor says two to three weeks to recover, although it all depends on how she’s feeling. Brain injuries are weird that way.

Yang doesn’t remember much from the game, or the hospital. The first few days after are rough. She spends most of her time sleeping. When she’s awake, she tries not to stress about all the practice (and classwork) that she’s missing. It forms a vicious cycle of stress leading to exacerbated head pain and nausea leading to…more stress. But Blake is always there to calm her down. Take her phone away and admonish her for not following the “minimize screen time” rule. 

She makes sure there are enough pillows and blankets to make a soft, warm nest. Keeps the room as dark as possible while Yang rests. Strokes Yang’s hair – lightly, careful not to pull anything.

“Thank you,” Yang whispers, her head lying on Blake’s lap. Blake leans down and silently kisses her forehead. Yang smiles, although it’s too dark for her to see.

Everyone else helps out too. Especially her housemates. And Ruby, of course. They bring food, or just sit with her when Blake can’t be there. They try to stay cheerful. But by the end of the first week, Yang can tell there’s a morale problem.

“What’s going on?” she asks Ruby one afternoon. Ruby bites her lip awkwardly, but she knows better than to try to dodge the question.

“It’s the losing streak, it’s getting to people.” She fiddles with her fingers in her lap. 

“It’s only been two games,” Yang says, raising an eyebrow. The motion makes her head throb, and she swiftly lowers it. “Ow. Anyway, you tied the last one, right?”

“Okay, lack-of-a-win streak. And it’s three if you include the Haven game.” Her fingers twitch faster, poorly containing the nervous energy. “Um… Blake’s been off. Not that it’s her fault! I’d never—” 

“Calm down, Ruby.” Yang grabs her hand and squeezes it. “I get it. Let me talk to her.”

Ruby looks uncertain. “I don’t know… she’s kinda wound up right now. Plus, your head…”

Yang wants to roll her eyes, but she knows it’ll set off another stabbing head pain. There are several motions that tend to do that. “I can handle talking, don’t worry. You focus on keeping morale up, okay?”

“Okay!” Ruby’s youthful smile springs onto her face, and Yang feels a rush of affection.

“There we go,” she says, smiling back.

But talking to Blake is easier said than done, especially with her head behaving so unpredictably. So it takes a couple days before Blake comes over at a time where Yang is feeling good enough to talk.

“Hey.” 

Blake glances up from her book immediately. “Are you okay? Should I turn the lamp off?”

Yang laughs lightly. “Cute. But no, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh.” She sets the book down with a nervous tremor. “What is it?”

“Nothing bad,” Yang says hastily. “It’s just…” Damn. She’d made a plan for this conversation, but her stupid brain is fogging up worse than her windshield in February. 

“You don’t have to spend so much time here.”

Blake’s shoulders deflate. “I…okay.”

“Shit, sorry, that wasn’t—” Yang huffs. “I love every minute that you’re here, even if my head’s splitting open or I can’t open my eyes without getting nauseous.”

Blake doesn’t look crestfallen anymore, just confused. Which Yang takes as a victory.

“What I’m trying to say is, don’t sacrifice your health, or classes, or game. You’ve already done more than enough.” That isn’t exactly what she’d wanted to say either. Hopefully it’s close enough.

“My game?” She crosses her arms. 

“Uhh.” This feels like a trap. Yang can’t think of anything to say except for the truth. “Well, Ruby told me you’ve been a little off lately. On and off the field. And I…” She feels choked up, suddenly. But she forces the words out. “I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

Blake uncrosses her arms. 

“Oh, baby.”

The endearment sends a flutter through Yang’s chest. Blake never uses pet names. It’s really more Yang’s purview. But hearing her say it makes Yang relax instinctively. Makes her feel secure, comfortable. Loved. They haven’t said that yet, but Yang feels it all the same. 

“You could never be a burden. Not to me.” Her gaze is steady and calm. “Not if it’s you.”

And what else could that be, but a declaration of love?

Yang cracks a smile. “What’re quoting there, Sappho?”

“Euripides. Sorry for plagiarizing.” Blake dips forward to kiss her cheek.

“Careful Belladonna, I’ll report you to the academic integrity board.” 

Blake giggles, but then grows serious. “I mean it though. I am distracted, but it’s not your fault, it’s…” She sighs. “It sounds silly.”

“Try me.”

She pauses. Nods. Slides across the bed, closer to Yang, so that their sides are pressed together. Yang automatically takes her hand and holds it in her lap. 

Blake takes a breath, then another. Yang waits patiently for her to continue.

Finally she opens her mouth, though her eyes stay fixed on their clasped hands. “Here’s the thing. I don’t deserve you.”

Yang starts to protest, but Blake cuts her off with a shake of her head. “I’m just not as amazing as you think I am. It’s a fact. And from the start, I’ve been wondering when you’ll realize that you could do so much better.”

She takes a breath, exhales shakily.

“I’ve started thinking that maybe you won’t realize it. Maybe I’ve fooled you too well. And maybe… maybe this is the universe’s way of fixing its mistake. I’m just—” her voice breaks, but she swallows hard and forges ahead “—I’m convinced that when you come back, you’ll get hurt again. Because of me.”

Yang tries to process that, but it’s like the gears in her mind suddenly don’t fit. “What? You think it’s your fault I got concussed? Blake, that’s…”

“I know.” Blake sniffles. She’s crying, and Yang is paralyzed. “I’m sorry. He was right about me.”

“Don’t.” Yang says. She blinks a few times, tries to pull her thoughts together into something coherent. “I… who was right?”

Blake tenses against Yang’s side. “My… my ex. From community college.” 

Yang can feel her shivering, and it’s finally enough to push past the fuzziness in her head. She wraps her arms around Blake and pulls her into her lap.

“You don’t have to tell me.” Yang holds her gently, but firmly. And slowly, Blake untenses. She buries her face in Yang’s shoulder. 

“You scare me.” She says it in a whisper. Yang doesn’t say anything. She just stokes her hand up and down Blake’s back, waits for her to elaborate if she wants to.

“I’ve never been with anyone but him. I don’t know how to do this.” She lets out a long, trembling sigh. “I don’t know if I’m capable of this.”

Yang’s own breathing hitches. She unconsciously holds Blake tighter.

“Hey. You are.” She presses a long kiss onto Blake’s neck. “And I’m scared too, you know? I’ve never seen romantic love in my life that didn’t end in pain. My mom…” She trails off.

Blake pulls back enough to look into her eyes. Her cheeks are still streaked with tears, and all Yang wants is to make them go away. Make the tears go away forever. Make that man pay for hurting her. The rage flashes through her for a couple seconds. It cuts through the fog, blinding and hot. 

“What about your mom?” Blake prompts.

Yang lets her anger ebb away. She’s mildly surprised at how suddenly it came on. She wipes Blake’s cheeks with her thumbs, channeling the fierce, almost animalistic protectiveness into something gentle. Something that Blake deserves.

“My birth mother, I mean. She isn’t capable of love.” She says it very simply, like a fact. Because it is. “And that’s why I know that you are.”

“But—” 

“Blake.” Yang gives her a soothing half-smile. “Trust me on this one, okay?”

Blake’s expression softens. She nods. They both know, instinctively, that there’s nothing more to be said. So Blake lays a hand on Yang’s cheek. And Yang wraps an arm around Blake’s waist.

When their lips touch, Yang can feel the fog lifting. Everything – school, life, her mom, her concussion, Blake’s ex – everything shrinks. The trains of her thoughts slow down and grind to a halt on their tracks. There’s nothing but Blake. Nothing but the sensation of Blake’s perfect, warm lips, softly pressing against on her own.


	10. Chapter 10

Playing without Yang is hard. Harder than Blake expects, honestly. But things do improve with time. By the fourth or fifth game without her, the defense has resolidified, and Lisa has gotten much more comfortable in the goal.

The emotions don’t get any easier though. About a week and a half after her concussion, Yang’s able to stay outside long enough to watch the games. Seeing her on the sidelines is better than leaving her to lay in bed alone, but it still makes Blake heart sink. And that’s nothing compared to the toll it takes on Yang. 

Her restlessness peaks after 14 days, which she’d been treating as the end of her recovery period.

“Why won’t they fucking clear me!” Yang slams her hand onto the table, then winces. “Ouch.”

Blake frowns. “Yang, you still have symptoms. It’s too dangerous.”

She scoffs. “Barely.”

“You can’t do bright lights,” Pyrrha chimes in from the kitchen.

“Or loud noises,” Blake adds.

“I can still play.” Yang growls and stares at the grains of the wood, tracing the patterns aimlessly with her fingernails.

“No, you can’t. You need to be 100%.” Blake keeps her tone calm. But Yang is too riled up to be receptive.

“Whose side are you on?” She stands up abruptly, sending the chair skidding across the linoleum. Before Blake can protest, Yang storms off, up the stairs and presumably to her room.

“Yang!” There’s no answer. Blake’s about to go after her, but Pyrrha clears her throat and shakes her head.

“Maybe we ought to give her some time,” she suggests. Blake isn’t a fan of the idea. But Pyrrha’s probably right. Blake pulls the chair back into place with a sigh. 

She lingers at the house for the next couple hours, wanting to give Yang space while remaining accessible in case she needs her. And Pyrrha, Nora, Coco, and Velvet are more than happy to accommodate her. They’ve gotten pretty used to her hanging around. At this point, Blake feels like a sixth housemate. 

She’s sitting on the couch, halfheartedly working on an essay, when Yang finally emerges – a slow, despondent trudge down the stairs. But her eyes light up as soon as she spots Blake.

“Hey.” Yang shifts her feet, stares at the couch cushion next to Blake. “Can I…?” 

“Yeah.” 

She sinks down with a sigh. “I’m sorry. That was fucked up.”

“No, it’s okay.” Blake grabs her hand, automatically. “I understand.”

“Yeah, but I acted like a kid throwing a tantrum. You don’t deserve that.” Yang rubs her thumb over Blake’s knuckles. The touch is soothing, with just the right amount of pressure. Yang’s touches are always like that.

“I-I guess.” 

Yang frowns, and her brow furrows. “Blake… Don’t minimize it.”

Blake sighs. “Yes. You did behave like a child. Even if I understand why you did it.” 

“I’m sorry.” She says simply, forcing Blake to make eye contact. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

“I forgive you.”

Yang smiles, and there’s a familiar glint in her eyes. “Kiss me?”

“If you insist.” Blake doesn’t waste time. She loses her fingers in Yang’s hair, and firmly pulls her into a deep kiss.

Luckily, Blake can calm the worst of Yang’s restlessness, usually with soft touches and frequent kisses. And although she feels guilty, on some level she’s relieved that Yang isn’t playing. The fear that she might get hurt hasn’t gone away. If this was the recovery for what the doctor called a “mild concussion,” Blake is scared to imagine what it would look like if Yang gets hit in the head again. But her desire to play with Yang again is more intense than the fear, and Blake starts getting antsy herself as they approach the final games of the season. 

They’ve made the playoffs, of course. They’d clinched a spot even before Yang’s injury. But playoffs are elimination games, and only the top four teams in the league qualify. They need their starting goalkeeper back. Blake needs her back.

She wants to stop time – or at least slow it down. Give Yang time to rest and recover before the playoffs come. But time passes stubbornly, as it always does, and the end of November comes before any of them are ready. And with it comes a chill in the air that makes it near impossible for Blake to get out of bed in the morning. Particularly since she’s taken to spending almost every night with Yang, who’s basically a space heater. 

But she keeps to her morning running schedule, pulling on extra layers and stealing Yang’s thick woolen hat to stop her ears from freezing off. She runs down the dense college town blocks to one of the nature trails, or heads West to run along the docks. And usually she comes back to find Yang or Velvet cooking some ridiculously high-carb breakfast for the group. 

So it’s weird when she returns one morning and Coco’s standing in the kitchen, stirring (more like smacking) pancake batter with a wooden spoon.

“Hey Coco,” Blake says through huffed breaths. “Yang up yet?”

Coco looks confused. “Uh, Velvet took her to her appointment like 10 minutes ago.”

“Oh, right.” Blake mentally kicks herself. How could she have forgotten? This explains why Yang’s sleepy, mumbled protests were particularly insistent when she got out of the covers today. Blake checks the clock.

“I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Coco waves her off. “Go.”

Blake nods and scampers back out the front door. She makes a beeline for the student health center, fast walking through the gusts of cold air. It almost hurts to breathe, and the way she’s panting only makes it worse. And now it’s starting to rain. Just a light mist of water, but enough to coat her clothes in a layer of dampness and let the cold seep into her muscles.

Luckily, it’s a short journey, and she reaches the tall, white brick building with a rush of relief. She pushes past the door and is met with a welcome rush of warm air. Yang and Velvet have already disappeared somewhere, which Blake notes with a quiet curse. She paces around a little. Chides herself again for forgetting. The receptionist gives her a skeptical look, so she perches in on of the squishy lobby chairs and pretends to read a magazine. 

This appointment is a big one, since their semifinal against Atlas is on Saturday. Blake feels yet another rush of self-loathing. Yang would get on her about that. She’s always telling Blake to give herself a break. She always says it the same way, the same tone. “C’mon babe, give yourself a break.” And then she’ll smile. 

Blake sets the magazine down. Thinking about Yang’s smile is a welcome distraction. It used to overwhelm her, but now it just feels like a comfortable warmness. Slowly but surely, Blake is starting to believe that someone so good could exist. And more shockingly, that someone so good could want her. 

The door at the far end of the lobby swings open. Thinking about Yang’s smile is a welcome distraction. But it’s nothing compared to the thrill of seeing it in the flesh – especially now, when Blake knows instantly what it means. 

Her own face breaks into an uncontrollable grin. Yang has a way of making her inhibitions fall out the window, a way of making her surrender to whatever nebulous thing is building between them. It’s getting less nebulous with time.

They’re drawn together, as always, irresistibly. Blake wraps her arms around Yang’s waist, solid and strong. 

Yang whispers something to her. It’s soft, mumbled into the side of Blake’s head, but she can hear it well enough.

“Hey. I love you.”

It should scare her, probably. It should feel wrong for someone like Blake to accept a love she may not deserve. But it feels too right, too perfect to argue with. So for once she doesn’t. 

“I love you too.”

~~

There’s an air of skittishness amongst the team as they take the field for the semifinal. Part of it is simply the taut, nervous energy of playing an elimination game. A game where a victory would take them to the league finals, while a defeat would end their season. 

Part of it is the cold, even though the game is scheduled for the afternoon, and the worst of the chill is kept at bay by the pale winter sun overhead. 

And part of it is that this is Yang’s first game back. She’s been practicing with them for over a week now, but a casual scrimmage is a far cry from a tournament. Yang, however, carries herself with a steady confidence. She’s quieter than usual as she fastens her gloves and trudges to the net, exchanging her routine high-fives with Ruby and Nora.

Blake takes her own spot in front of her. She glances over her shoulder. Yang’s face is neutral, but she has a focused, determined set to her jaw. She meets Blake’s gaze with a small smile.

“It’s all good.” 

That’s good enough for Blake. She nods and turns her attention to half field, where Atlas is about to kick off. Blake tightens her ponytail and shifts her feet, maintaining her elevated heart rate from their pre-game warm-ups.

The whistle blows, and they’re off.

Atlas’ game plan is obvious from the first few minutes: push hard at the beginning of the game and secure an early lead. Their forwards are running like maniacs, particularly Neon Katt, who apparently has something to prove after losing to Beacon during the regular season.

“Good to see the hothead’s back in goal!” The taunt loses some effectiveness since it comes out between heavy breaths.

“Uh huh.” Yang’s too fixated on her technique to pay attention, which Blake notes with a surge of affection.

“Hmph.” 

The Atlas player takes the corner kick and Yang leaps into the air, snatching the ball before Neon or anyone else can get to it. Blake can’t keep the fond smile off her face as she watches Yang punt the ball up to midfield.

Pyrrha deftly redirects it with one touch into the attacking third where Ruby is already making a run towards the penalty box. Most of the Atlas players were on Beacon’s side for the corner, and Ruby takes advantage of the open space, showing off her speed and dribbling ability.

“Ruby, over here!” Weiss yells it loud enough that Blake can hear. 

Ruby stutter-steps past a defender and launches the ball over the box to Weiss, who’s completely open. By the time the Atlas defenders get their bearings and swivel around, she’s already taken one touch to control the pass and set herself up for the shot. Her left leg swings and connects perfectly. The shot has unbelievable power – especially given how small Weiss is – and the goalie doesn’t have a chance. She dives ineffectually while the ball slams into the upper right corner of the net.

The Beacon fans erupt into cheers, and Weiss looks pleased for once when Ruby grabs her in a tight hug. Blake exchanges smiles with Penny and Ilia. This is about the best start they could have hoped for. And after the goal, she feels the team settle down into a more solid, comfortable style of play, rather than the franticness of the first ten minutes. They play a possession-based game, holding the ball in the back- or midfield and slowly building up their attacking plays. 

Atlas’ frustration grows as the first half drags on and Beacon’s moat-and-wall defense shuts down any offensive chances that they get. During the half, Maria warns against complacency, but even her sternest tone can’t keep the burgeoning glee at bay. They’re only 45 minutes away from the finals, and they all know it. And Maria’s seriousness evaporates when she finds a chance to taunt the Atlesian coach, a gray-haired, grump of a woman. 

There seems to be some bad blood between them that Blake isn’t privy to. But watching their antics sends Yang into a fit of laughter, and that’s enough to lift Blake’s mood even higher.

“How’s your head?” She asks as they jog back onto the field.

“It’s fine.” Yang raises an eyebrow, then smiles. “You’re sweet, but you don’t need to worry. I’m okay, okay?”

Blake smiles back, slightly sheepish. “I know, I just…”

“I know.” She catches Blake’s hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “I love you too.”

“That’s presumptuous,” Blake says. 

Yang takes her spot in the goal and wiggles her fingers in her gloves. “Is it?” She stretches her arms out, making sure to flex the biceps as she does. Her grin is downright cocky.

“Dweeb.” Blake turns around so Yang won’t know how much that smile affects her.

“Whoa! There’s only room in this relationship for one dweeb and you’re already nailing it babe.”

“You’re both dweebs!” Ilia calls from the side of the field. “And why the hell are you still flirting? You already got her…”

Penny nods her agreement. “I’m wondering the same as Ilia!”

“And on another note, we’re currently engaged in an elimination match…” Ciel gives them both a blank stare.

Blake’s face heats up. Sometimes she forgets that their teammates can hear them. “R-right. Sorry.” 

Yang just laughs, lacking Blake’s shame and decorum.

Everyone shuts up after that, mostly because the ref is jogging back onto the field to resume the game. Blake closes her eyes for a couple seconds, refocusing on the task at hand. They’re up by one, but that’s not a comfortable buffer with Atlas pushing so hard. The balance could change at any time if they aren’t careful. 

The whistle blows and Coco kicks off, setting up a back pass to Pyrrha. Blake adjusts her positioning accordingly, creeping up the field as the midfielders pass amongst themselves, looking for space to attack. There’s a scuffle for possession around the midfield line – an Atlas player darts away with the ball at her feet. Blake sweeps her eyes around to track her teammates and opponents. There’s an Atlesian forward making a run down the center. The alarm bell rings in Blake’s head, and she places herself in the way just as the Atlas player lofts the ball towards her teammate. Blake jumps and heads it away comfortably, directing it to Nora’s feet. 

“Nice,” Ilia says as she runs past.

Nora sprints to the top of the box, cutting past a defender to get some breathing room. Blake figures she’s going to hammer it. 

“Hammer it!” Ruby yells.

Nora hammers it. The ball whirls into the air towards the net with a rapid spin. Unfortunately the Atlas goalie is better than anticipated, and manages to bat down the shot. Weiss tries to capitalize on the rebound, but the goalie snatches the ball up and flings it out to one of her defenders.

“Watch the counter!” Maria calls from the sidelines.

It’s a little late though, since the counterattack has already begun. The defender slots a pass through the gap between Velvet and Pyrrha, where Neon Katt is ready to pounce.

“Shit,” Blake says. The outside backs are too far away to help, and Neon’s too fast for any of them to catch. She and Penny rush to double-team her.

Neon roughly shoulders Penny off to the side and keeps running. That probably should have been a foul. Blake doesn’t have time to complain though. She has to run at full steam just to keep pace with her, and now she’s on her own.

Yang and the goal are approaching. She can try a slide tackle to win the ball but risks missing and giving Neon space to cut past Yang. She looks at Yang, who gives her the slightest nod. She’s got this. Blake runs steadily, herding her to Yang’s right side. Yang shuffles her feet, then charges. But there’s nobody in the box to clear the ball if Neon chips it. Which is exactly what she does. And exactly what Yang expects. Her gloved hand stretches towards the afternoon sun. The shot rockets up and slams directly into her palm. Blake lets it bounce onto the grass, then whirls around to kick it out of bounds.

Neon curses. Yang grins. Blake breaths heavily, the rush of adrenaline slowly ebbing. 

That was a little too close. They’re more careful after that, adopting a “stay back and hunker down” philosophy as they run out the clock. Pyrrha hangs back as a quasi-defender, which makes everyone feel more confident. And finally, the whistle blows. 

Blake runs to the goal the second it does, caught up in the glow of victory – decorum be damned. Yang’s waiting for her, ready to scoop her up into a strong, secure hug.

“One more game,” Yang says, the smile evident in her voice. She holds Blake tighter.

“One more game,” Blake repeats. She closes her eyes and inhales Yang’s scent, comfortable and sweet even though they’re both covered in sweat. And she allows herself to cling to her for just a moment longer, before they have to separate to congratulate their other teammates and load up the bus. For now, she lets them have the moment. Lets herself breathe slow and steady, and listens to Yang doing the same. Revels – just for a moment – in the sense that they’re the only two people in the world.


	11. Chapter 11

One more game. Yang thinks it to herself, over and over. She rolls out her shoulders and shifts her weight back and forth between her feet, letting her cleats sink into the slightly damp field. It had rained most of that week, and although it’s not yet cold enough for snow, Yang’s still shivering. 

As always, Blake gives her a smile before she turns around to prepare for the match to start. Yang stares shamelessly at the back of her head, at her jersey, tracing her eyes over the letters on the back. She smiles softly. It’s probably a dangerous feeling, but Yang feels like they can’t lose as long as Blake’s standing in front of her. 

Their opponents are from Vytal University, and they’d only played them once during the regular season – a loss during Yang’s absence. According to Blake, their forwards were good, and not above playing dirty. Yang sizes them up. Vytal plays a 4-4-2 formation, so there are only two of them milling just outside the half field circle. 

One of them (the one with pink and brown hair) might be the shortest girl Yang’s ever seen. But height isn’t a necessity in soccer, and playing with Weiss and Ruby has taught Yang not to underestimate even the shrimpiest looking forward. Not that she would ever call Weiss and Ruby shrimps to their faces. She’d get a pair of painful kicks to the shins.

The other forward is much taller, and Yang can see a particularly aggressive glint in her eye even from half a field away. And the aggression manifests the second Coco kicks off, when the forward sprints at full speed directly towards Ruby.

Ruby actually jolts in surprise, but manages to direct Coco’s pass back to Velvet before she gets bowled over. The forward switches targets tenaciously. Her insane sprint slows to a more reasonable running pace. 

Yang raises her eyebrows at nobody in particular, not sure what the point of that was. Some sort of intimidation strategy? Ruby does look a little wary.

She shuffles forward in the box as Velvet works her way up the sideline. The short forward is hanging out right at the offside line, ready to seize any counterattack opportunities. Yang eyes her suspiciously. Blake’s doing the same thing, which she notes with a small smile. The feeling is back. Yang feels good.

~~

They were right to be suspicious. Vytal plays a counterattack-heavy game, and Blake is right about their forward tag team. They’re good. Crisp, accurate passing, great off-the-ball movement, and some frighteningly close shots. Yang finds herself leaping to make acrobatic saves more than she would like to. Although the nods of approval Blake sends her after each one always trigger a welcome rush of serotonin. 

Their forwards are getting close too. Coco has a header that goes just wide, and Ruby tries a chip that hits off the crossbar. But the score stays stubbornly tied at 0-0 at the half. They sit in a circle in the locker room while Coco encourages them to maintain the pressure and have faith in themselves.

“How’re you feeling?” Yang whispers, laying a hand on Blake’s knee.

“Okay. I’ll feel better once we get a goal.” Blake is too focused to say much else. 

Yang nods. “Yeah.” 

Maria ushers them out of the locker room, pausing to give each player a compliment, encouragement, or suggestion.

“Keep it up, Yang. Hang in there.” She gives Yang a squeeze on the shoulder, somewhat comically since she’s around a foot shorter than her. 

“Don’t you mean Yang in there?”

“Get out.” She smacks Yang’s forearm and all but shoves her out into the tunnel.

Yang hovers for a moment until Blake steps out to join her. They exchange nervous but hopeful smiles, and Blake even gives her a light kiss on the cheek. And with that, they head out onto the field for the final 45 minutes of the season.

Vytal comes into the second half with the same fervor they showed in the first, particularly on the offensive side. They’re only a few minutes in when, on a Vytal corner kick, Blake goes up for a header at the same time that the black-haired Vytal forward does. The forward isn’t happy when Blake manages to beat her to the ball. She growls and shoves both hands into Blake’s back, sending her flying forward into a face-plant.

“Hey!” Pyrrha gestures indignantly, and the ref blows the whistle.

Yang is into more direct action. She marches up to the forward and jabs a finger in front of her face.

“Don’t you EVER fucking do that again.” The rage is burning, and Yang knows she needs to reel herself in before she does something that’ll get her ejected.

The forward sneers. “I didn’t do anything.”

“YOU FUCK—” Yang’s actually planning to knock her teeth in, but Pyrrha and Nora grab her arms and pull her away before things escalate further.

“It’s okay, Yang.” Blake gets to her feet slowly. “I’m fine.”

Yang takes a deep breath. “Okay.” She shoots the asshole forward another glare, then lays a hand on Blake’s back. “You sure?”

“Yes, baby, I’m sure.” Blake smiles to reassure her, and Yang feels a desperate urge to pull her into her arms. 

“Hey Nora?” Yang slaps her gloves together and steps up to where the ref spotted the ball. “Hammer time.”

Nora grins wildly, then darts up the field to prepare for Yang’s kick. The whistle blows and Yang waits a beat for everyone to get into position, then approaches the ball at a run. She kicks it harder than she ever has. Towards a waiting Nora, who heads it down then makes an adrenaline rush of a run into the box. Nora’s leg pulls back. Two Vytal defenders rush to block the shot. But Nora feints in, then sends a short pass around them with the outside of her cleat. Ruby is already making the run. Yang knows it’s going in the back of the net before she even makes contact.

The cheers are deafening. Their loyal fans, bundled up in layers of coats to ward off the November chill, literally jump for joy. Yang does too, pumping her fists rapidly. As Blake runs back to her position, they make eye contact. She’s smiling that unbridled smile that Yang loves so much. And for a moment Yang thinks she might die if she doesn’t get to kiss her soon.

The tone of the game changes immediately after Ruby’s goal. Beacon drops into their quasi 5-3-2 formation to keep their defense solidly anchored, even on Vytal’s counterattacks. The frustration from the two forwards is palpable, particularly the dark-haired one, who takes on an almost savage play style. She makes dangerous slide tackles left and right, including one that nearly ends with her cleating Yang’s shoulder as she makes a diving save.

“Watch it,” Yang says, snatching the ball away.

The girl growls in irritation. Her amber eyes flash with something venomous, and Yang inadvertently takes a step backwards. 

Blake catches her eye and they exchange a worried glance. The fouls are getting more frequent, and the refs are struggling to control the game. And this forward is about ready to draw blood. From the sideline, Maria holds up one hand, fingers splayed. Five minutes left. 

Yang takes a steady breath and punts the ball to the right side of the field. Velvet springs to get on the end of it, and there’s a scuffle for possession in the midfield. One of the Vytal midfielders manages to get a pass off – the short forward charges to meet it. Yang shuffles across her goal line, tracking the movement of the ball with her body. The aggressive forward is making a run into the box. Yang debates a charge, but she can’t risk it when short forward is also in range of the goal. She cuts past Pyrrha and sends a sharp pass towards aggro forward.

It’s low and fast across the box, but Blake anticipates it with a perfectly timed slide tackle, stealing it right in front of the forward’s feet. But a second later the forward is on the ground, howling in pain. The whistle blows.

“I didn’t touch her!” Blake protests.

“That’s a dive! That’s a fucking DIVE!” Yang yells, even louder.

The ref gives them both an icy glare and blows the whistle again, pointing at the penalty spot. The entire team tries to protest. But the call’s been made. Vytal’s getting a penalty kick. Yang clenches her gloves into fists, feels a shot of pure adrenaline rush through her veins. 

The forward gets to her feet, making a big show of stretching out her legs and wincing. She notices Yang’s glower and smirks, just for a second, then goes back to fake wincing. 

But she apparently feels good enough to take the kick, because a minute later she’s lined up behind the penalty spot. Yang digs her heels into the goal line and shuffles her feet. She needs to save this penalty. Nobody will blame her if she doesn’t, of course. They know the odds are against her. But all the same, she needs to save this penalty.

Everyone else clusters outside of the box, ready to rush the box after the kick. Blake takes up a position at the top of the box. Their eyes meet, and Blake smiles. She raises her arms and mimics a rising drawbridge. 

Yang nods and shuffles her feet again while the forward steps back from the ball. The ref checks on them both, then places the whistle in her mouth. Yang searches the forward’s eyes. This isn’t like with Pyrrha. She has no idea where she’ll shoot, and her best chance at a save is to pick a side and dive. The forward’s harsh amber eyes are fixed stubbornly on the left post. Yang furrows her brow and gets ready to jump.

The whistle blows and Yang launches herself right. She knows instantly that she the correct side. The ball’s coming at her fast, but the placement is off – a little too high, a little too far center. That’s what happens when you play snake eyes. Yang makes contact with both hands, stopping the ball in mid-flight, and pounces on the rebound. 

The cheers are nearly deafening. She’s rushed by all of her teammates at once, everyone sliding into the grass to form a massive hug pile. The forward sinks to her knees. It’s over, and she knows it. 

Yang grins from beneath the swarm of teammates. It’s over.

Once everyone separates – Blake lingers for an extra hug – Yang lines up the ball for a goal kick. Maria waves her arms to get her attention and holds up one finger. Just a minute left. 

Yang kicks the ball up the side to Ilia, who sets up a passing triangle with Nora and Pyrrha to run out the clock. It’s hard to keep the smile off her face, especially with the adrenaline still coursing, but she forces herself to stay present. Stay focused.

The sound of the whistle blowing for the last time feels like a rush of air leaving her chest. It only takes a second for Blake to come jogging back to her, uniform covered in grass stains and dirt, face lit up in nothing short of pure joy. And that feels like a rush of fresh air. It fills her lungs and nearly picks her up off of the ground.

Blake grabs her shoulders. Yang lets herself be pushed up against the goalpost, busy rubbing her hands over her perfect hips. And when they kiss she really does feel like she might float away. She wouldn’t want to come down for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! And huge shout out to Cinna for the wonderful artwork -- link here: https://cinnaworm.tumblr.com/post/634515520628080640/heres-my-part-in-the-bumblebybigbang-these-are. Thanks also to the BBB mod team for all their work putting together this banger of an event. 
> 
> ...and for making the B^3 discord. Not to be simpy on main but I got uh something really special out of that place
> 
> Lastly, before I shut up, I'd like to dedicate this stupid fanfiction to my significant bother: nina stelmarias <3


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